Pieces
by Sincynati
Summary: The children were his heart, his heart was the children. Little pieces of him walking, living. Dying. And when they would die, a bit of him died too. And now, he was running out of heart to give away- and someday, he would break.


Just an idea I thought up one night six months ago... heh. Didn't get around to it until this past week obviously:)

Remember- I read and review one of your stories for every review you give me. :) A win/win situation- and it only takes a moment :) Thanks!

**Disclaimer: **Nothing in here is mine, except for the obvious. :) I don't own Iruka and he wouldn't be as cool if I did:)

Enjoy-

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**Pieces**

Iruka remembered the boy's laugh. It was a different kind of laugh- one of those laughs that is actually funnier than the joke that was told.

He wouldn't be laughing anymore.

Iruka remembered the boy's smile- contagious. His grin was wider than his face, and could make anyone, no matter what mood they were in, smile.

He was smiling when he died.

-/-/-

It wasn't the first time that one of his students died. No, Rijou and Choimaru and Tsune and lots of his other students were among the dead. Countless of them, buried in the godforsaken lot they had the guts to call a graveyard, with only a number to mark their resting place. Sometimes not even that, their bodies decaying on a forgotten battlefield, or left as food for any wild beast that happened along. All their names crammed on a single memorial stone.

It wasn't that unusual, either. They were shinobi. And shinobi tend to die, especially the inexperienced. It was only the greatest, the most talented that didn't die.

After all, not many can live on the verge of insanity, wondering if this meal would be their last. Not many people could deal with the pressure of thinking on their feet, or being chased by enemy ninja who wouldn't hesitate to kill them.

No, not many at all.

Those who died in their early missions where scoffed at by the experts, every move, every detail examined. "They shouldn't have done that," they would say, "they should have done this."

But Iruka knew that saying it inside a cool building with a cup of coffee was much different then actually doing it in the heat of battle.

There wasn't always a mourning procession, like they want you to believe. They just don't have the money or time to keep up with every death that occurs. Only the well-known and honored get a funeral announced publicly, only the famous have many mourners.

For the smaller, unknown ninja, there was their family and whatever friends weren't dead.

_-/-/-_

It was raining that day.

Appropriate, really. It was if even the heavens where crying for Mikuri and his family.

Iruka glanced around at the small clump of people- Mikuri's mother, by the table with his picture, the boy's three sisters, and the genin's girlfriend, Akia. Ruki, Mikuri's best friend, was just a bit away, standing cold and still. Unmoving. Afraid to show emotions.

_No, Ruki,_ Iruka thought to the boy, _it's okay. It's okay to cry._

Iruka was crying. Softly, silently.

It wasn't right for him to die, not when he had so much left to live for.

A few others were scattered around the family, not sure of what to do. To them, it was one of many shinobi, one of many gone.

To Iruka, it wasn't that way. It wasn't a statistic- it was _Mikuri_.

Mikuri, who always laughed. Mikuri, who loved animals. Mikuri, who knew how to smile.

Not many ninja knew how.

_-/-/-_

Mikuri had been Iruka's student two years ago, graduated at the age of twelve. His team tried for chūnin at thirteen and failed, then again a month before his death. Mikuri had passed.

Iruka remembered Ruki and Mikuri coming back to the academy, Mikuri showing off his flak vest, Ruki bragging about how he'd make it next time. Both of them saying they never would have gotten this far without Iruka.

_But that wasn't true,_ Iruka thought, _all they needed to do was believe in themselves._

Besides- if it wasn't for Iruka, Mikuri wouldn't be dead.

It was Iruka's fault, wasn't it? If only he was a better teacher... maybe, maybe he could have prevented it. If only he paid more attention to his students... to Mikuri... he could have worked on his weaknesses more.

Mikuri was always weak in genjutsu. Iruka was, too. Instead of suggesting that Mikuri should continue working hard on mastering his weakness after his graduation, or even offering to practice genjutsu with him, Iruka let him go with the confidence that he would do fine.

He did do fine, too. Until he died.

-_/-/-_

Nobody noticed Mikuri was gone anymore. Nobody except Iruka.

He was visiting the gravestone again that night. Every night for the past twelve years, ever since his parents died, he would come to this place to think, to pray. To remember.

Now there was another name carved onto the stone, another precious person gone. Another piece of his heart lost. Forever.

Iruka traced his finger over the indentations. He knew a lot of these name- companions, teachers, students, friends. Mother. Father.

A week had passed since the funeral- the few flowers that had decorated the stone where gone, blown away by wind or washed to the gutter by the rain. Memory of the dead was gone.

Except for Iruka. He would remember.

He would remember his father's smile, always. He'd remember his mother's cookies. He'd remember the countless jokes and laughter his friends and he had created together, the priceless amount of secrets and whispers they would share, back in forth, a never-ending cycle until one day, it was broken. He would remember.

Always.

-_/-/-_

Iruka never learned to stop caring, to stop loving. He never learned to forget. He was always forgiving, remembering.

News had reached him that Rejira had died- a graduate from the year before. Her genin cell got caught in the wrong place in the wrong time... the cost was Rejira's life.

Iruka sometimes wondered how he made it through each time a student died. Each student had a piece of him...and when they died, a part of him died too.

It was inevitable- it always happened. Funeral after funeral, comforting mother after mother so often that he was ready to break himself.

But yet, he never could give up teaching.

Whenever he would see a student prevailing would he remember why he went though so much pain, why he stuck on through all the sorrow. When he saw Naruto, the dead last that everyone now loved. When he saw Shikamaru, the lazy genius who was the only chūnin graduate of his exam. When he would see Rock Lee, steadily practicing with no support from others, thriving in his training and unmoved by fact that no-one had believed he could do it

When he would see the families and siblings of the dead rise as one to protect the village and their comrades, when he would impart some life-saving thread of knowledge to his students.

That's why he stayed.

_-/-/-_

Rejira's funeral was fuller than Mikuri's- but not by much. Her team, her family, her friends. Iruka.

There was the usual mourning, the crying. Iruka found himself comforting Rejira's little brother, pulling the small boy in his arms.

Why? Why did they have to die?

Holding the small child, tears falling down his face softly, Iruka knew he could never prevent death. No matter how hard he tried, or how much he would try to teach all that he could, he could never, never prevent people from dying.

The world seemed small, suddenly. The only people alive were the few at the funeral, the only people breathing was him and the boy.

He felt the boys heaving shoulders against his chest, his moaning sobs that escaped his lips...

Why?

Iruka looked up at the sky- the blue, cheerful sky.

_Go away,_ he commanded wearily, _you're not welcome here._

Too cheerful. Too happy. Mikuri was dead. Rejira was dead. Little pieces of his heart- dead. They were all dead and the sun had the nerve to shine.

_-/-/-_

He showed up at the academy the next day, ready to teach, announcing that they would be learning evasion tactics today. Maybe, just maybe, he could teach his students how to avoid getting into a situation like Rejira's.

But maybe, under the heat of battle, they would break. Like she did.

Shinobi were still sent out everyday, shinobi still died. Iruka didn't know all of them- but he showed up to every funeral.

None of them were full. All the families thanked him.

At least he could help a little. At least he could give the families some comfort as they grieved for their beloved.

Iruka wasn't a therapist, though. Iruka was breakable.

Every morning, he would greet the students in the academy. There they were- his heart, broken into a million pieces, walking around, living and breathing.

And then they would cease to be, becoming lifeless and still. They would die, one by one, piece by piece.

Dead.

Gone.

Forever.

And he would die along with them, over and over, one by one.

Yes, Iruka was breakable. And if he went on like this much longer, there wouldn't be any Iruka left.


End file.
